


Twisted Every Way

by my_daroga



Category: Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Character Study, F/F, F/M, Pre-Slash, Sexual Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-10
Updated: 2005-12-10
Packaged: 2017-10-09 13:25:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/87957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_daroga/pseuds/my_daroga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I finally made myself watch the Schumacher thing, and this is what happened to me. I couldn't even write a review, I was so appalled. I wasn't sure if the source material or the direction was more to blame, but this is the only reasonable way I can see the last scene playing out, given Christine's expressions and possible motivations at this point. Enjoy!</p></blockquote>





	Twisted Every Way

He'd almost had her.

The abduction was more or less expected. Typical, really. The tunnels and the lake had long since ceased to frighten her, and she had actually come to find an eerie beauty in the depths of the opera house. After all, she'd lived there nearly as long as he, and it was as much her home as his. Perhaps that was what made this apparent tragedy seem less alarming than it should have. Perhaps it came from living in such a place. Too much opera. Or not enough sunlight. Something.

"Why, you ask, was I bound and chained in this cold and dismal place? Not for any mortal sin but the wickedness of my abhorrent face!"

She followed him numbly, biting back her reply that they'd had no such excuse in her case. Her only sin was to have dead parents. She was stuck here as surely as he, until such time as she could no longer dance or had been swept away by some rich patron to be kept in shameful comfort until she was no longer good even for that.

"This fate which condemns me to wallow in blood has also denied me the joys of the flesh…"

Much easier to be kept in shameful comfort right here.

It was better this way, really. At least she was still home. She wouldn't have to learn any new names or meet anyone's disapproving family or greet fashionable guests when they came to her inadequate garden parties. And maybe they could work something out. He could be reasonable, she had convinced herself. He could be persuaded to let her sing. To let her see Meg, once in awhile.

"This haunted face holds no horror for me now. It's in your soul that the true distortion lies." But she could get over that, too.

And then he had to show up. Poor, unthinking Raoul. Who thought everything could be solved with direct confrontation and every dispute dispelled by his refusal to acknowledge it. It was rather charming, but if she was going to be rescued, it certainly wouldn't be by Raoul. Madame Giry, she guessed, would fare better. She liked Raoul, it was true. She'd loved him as a child. She'd dreamed of just this sort of thing. And now that it was happening and the two men she loved were shouting over her like dueling sides of her personality she felt nothing but a curious hollowness.

"Why make her lie to you to save me?" Raoul finally moaned.

Oh Raoul, she thought, I'd be lying to either of you. It was such a silly choice, really. Such an artificial solution to a problem neither had really bothered to factor her into. Why had no one asked her opinion? And why had she followed slavishly whichever one happened to be in the room? Meg may not have believed her, but at least she held her accountable for her actions. At least she asked. She wondered what Meg was doing. If she knew what had happened. If her mother really knew more than she let on. Christine had never had a mother. She wondered what it would be like to have one like Madame Giry. If Madame Giry was her mother, she'd be sorely disappointed in her. Christine looked up.

"You deceived me. I gave my mind blindly."

But it wasn't about the mind, was it? Or at least, not anymore. Because whomever her mind belonged to, it was now thinking back to the dorms, the rooms she shared with the other girls. The dying breath of an expired candle somewhere in the room evoked a sense memory of the companionable warmth of all those bodies huddled together on winter nights reading aloud to each other past curfew.

It wasn't about the mind. It was about soft skin and softer voices, whispers caressing the hairs on her neck as the latest sordid gossip was passed from ear to ear. Slender arms and powerful legs, tiny waists and necks like marble columns. She cast her eyes from one suitor to the other, and found them hulking and graceless, with hands too large and voices too deep and cruel mouths that never gave her the secret thrill she gained when she watched Meg's lips part in sleep.

"You try my patience. Make your choice!"

She had a duty to Raoul though. She could not let him die, and she had no doubt that her angel would not fail to avenge his disappointment. She steeled herself for what she had to do. What she had said before was suddenly true; that his face held no horror for her anymore. But she'd learned something else about herself; forcing her to choose had made it only too clear what she really wanted. The lesson had come too late. Now the only choice was in what way she would sacrifice herself. It was simple, really. She could be the heroine, make the hard decisions. It's what Meg would have wanted her to do. Madame Giry would be proud of her.  


**Author's Note:**

> I finally made myself watch the Schumacher thing, and this is what happened to me. I couldn't even write a review, I was so appalled. I wasn't sure if the source material or the direction was more to blame, but this is the only reasonable way I can see the last scene playing out, given Christine's expressions and possible motivations at this point. Enjoy!


End file.
